Guardian Trickster
by thefriendlyguy63
Summary: AU where Gabriel is Chuck's guardian instead of Raphael. May or may not be based on Rob and Richard's friendship in real life. The first few chapters generally follow the plot of some canon episodes involving the main characters of this fic, then it moves into my personal theories. (Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, or any of the characters.)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:**

**Hi again! So this is the fic I was talking about at the end of my last Supernatural one – sorry, I got kind of side-tracked when I got the idea for my Dark Knight fic but aaaaanyway. I've been wanting to write this for a couple of weeks, but after the surprise appearance of Chuck in 10x05 Fanfiction (asdfghjkl I was literally overjoyed), I just **_**had**_** to start writing it. I always go on for too long in the author's note, so I'll shut up now. Hope you guys enjoy this – reviews/favourites/follows are much appreciated :) Thank you!**

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><p>Chuck Shurley was just about waking up one morning. It was an ordinary morning, and Chuck knew it was also the start of an ordinary day in his tedious life. After all, his daily routine, however irritatingly boring and aimless it seemed, was all he knew to do in life. Speaking of which, a normal day in the life of a writer of a mostly unsuccessful book series generally goes as follows: Chuck woke up in the late morning (usually around half eleven), clad in an alcohol-stained vest, boxers and a scruffy dressing gown after an alcohol-induced loss of consciousness on his tattered sofa late the previous night; he then proceeded to peel himself off his temporary bed, stumbled to the kitchen and poured out more left over whiskey before making his way across the living room to crash out at his desk, which is home to his computer. He was still haunted by the visions that were sure to have plagued him in his unconscious state during the night, therefore did the only thing he is capable of doing – writing them down. He fired up the only piece of technology he has (other than a terrible quality, ancient mobile phone) and began to type.<p>

Of course, at that point in his life, Chuck wasn't aware of the fact that he was a prophet of the Lord; he supposed his visions were simply bad dreams that tended to 'flow', so just decided to jot down his ideas. After all, he had nothing better to do other than drink himself to death in his state of extreme boredom, although he practically was drinking himself to death anyway due to his insufferable headaches, for which aspirin would do no good. His life was pretty much entirely miserable.

However, that day was to be no ordinary day. Chuck would meet people that he never knew existed in real life; he would discover something fundamental about himself that, to be completely honest, wouldn't really affect the way in which he lived his life; but most terrifying and literally life-threatening of all, he would be forced to socialise with people instead of remaining in the comfort of his own ramshackle home.

In actuality, Chuck did have a different idea for what he was about to write that morning. He was going to take the inevitable risk of inserting himself, as the author, into his own story. Since he would soon find out that his visions came true anyway, the events that were to occur that day would have happened even if he didn't make the possibly terrible mistake of writing them down. Even so, Chuck was naturally majorly freaked out when two guys claiming to be Sam and Dean – the characters at the epicentre of his book series – arrived on his doorstep a split second after Chuck had written them to do so. Though maybe not quite as freaked out as the boys themselves had been.

The writer and his characters had a few run-ins that day before Castiel, the seraph, had appeared and brought to him and Dean the news that he was a prophet of the Lord, which just caused the lonely, alcoholic writer to freak out all the more. Not to mention the Winchesters.

After more angst-y arguments involving Sam and Dean, regarding an extremely significant event that Chuck had wrote about (the arrival of Lilith and her predicted and apparently unavoidable fiery demonic… whatever with Sam), Dean was getting desperate and, thanks to his good 'friend' Cas, found a way of potentially preventing the demon from killing his brother. Following the older Winchester's conversation with said angel, Dean raced over to Chuck's house as quickly as possible, burst through the door and demanded the prophet go with him to face their petrifying enemy. After a little motivational speaking and some forceful persuasion on Dean's behalf, Chuck was eventually coaxed into obeying him.

The information from Castiel that both men were utterly reliant on was that the prophet had an archangel to protect him that would (or rather, should) intervene if Chuck was placed in danger or threatened in any way. From that, Castiel and Dean had together drawn the conclusion that if Chuck was to be located in the same room as a demon (namely Lilith), said archangel would appear and destroy the threat – Lilith. And since they knew that the female demon would be paying Sammy a visit, they headed straight to the brothers' motel room.

On arriving, Chuck felt the need to declare who he was; he figured that otherwise, Lilith would only ignore him and continue her attempt to kill Sam, and likely Dean as well.

"I am the prophet… Chuck!" He yelled, a definite sense of tentativeness apparent in his tone. Although Lilith clearly wished to scoff at his remark and carry on as normal, she evidently didn't disbelieve him enough to do so.

"You've got to be joking." The demon spat, her eyes staring Chuck up and down, as if evaluating his power.

"Oh, this is no joke." Dean interrupted before anyone could make further comment. He knew that any hesitation could cost them their lives, and he also knew that Lilith had to be a hundred per cent sure that her life was in danger before she would leave. There was an extremely awkward pause of around half a minute in which nobody moved or made a sound. Eventually, Lilith appeared to be about to make her move.

"Oh please. It sure looks like a joke to me." At that, she stepped towards Chuck, still brandishing the demon knife, clearly figuring it was better to kill the so-called 'prophet' first, just in case he did pose a threat to her mission of breaking the seals. However, Dean's previous remark was supported by a piercing white light appearing outside the motel room and encompassing the building, causing the room to shake violently. Dean wished to make the situation clear nonetheless, therefore stated what was about to happen. "You see, Chuck here's got an archangel on his shoulder. You've got about ten seconds before this room is full of wrath and you're a piece of charcoal. You sure you want to tangle with that?"

A sense of finality filled the atmosphere as Lilith made the decision to abort her plan. A plume of black smoke erupted from her vessel's mouth as she escaped, leaving the young blonde girl to drop to the floor, unconscious. The rumbling and bright light immediately receded, and the group all remained where they were for a few moments, breathing deeply as the events of the past few minutes sunk in.

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><p>"Well, I'm glad your, er, plan worked anyway." Chuck stammered nervously to Dean as the small group congregated rather uncomfortably outside the prophet's house. The brothers had kindly driven Chuck back to his home after packing their bags in the motel room straight after their encounter with Lilith and the unknown archangel. And thus, there they all stood, Chuck shivering slightly; whether it was due to the slight chill in the night air, or purely nerves from their hectic day, none of them knew.<p>

"So am I, buddy. So am I." Dean replied, flashing a quick half-smile at the prophet in order to make him feel at least slightly more comfortable in their presence. It helped a little.

"Hey, uh, I gotta ask" – Sam addressed both his brother and Chuck – "if your archangel is supposed to protect you, why did he take so long before appearing? I mean, Lilith could have easily hurt you in the time he took to finally threaten her."

"He sure did take his sweet time. But angels are generally douchebags anyway, so I guess he was probably too high-and-mighty to protect you before you were in immediate danger." Dean theorised, adding to his brother's comment. "Well he got there in the end, so I suppose you have no need to worry. We might see you around."

"Yeah, take care, Chuck." Sam and Dean said their final goodbyes, smiling warmly at the poor prophet.

"Uh, thanks, I guess." Chuck replied, shifting his weight from foot to foot as the men slipped into a gauche silence for a moment, before the prophet made his move and hopped up the steps and back into his house, not looking back. He still expected to wake up in the morning and discover that it was all a strange and terribly perturbing dream, but that, unfortunately for him, was not the case. His life returned to normal, he still had visions, and an angel, Zachariah, even appeared to him later that night, telling him that his way of life was unavoidable, and that he basically had no choice other than to simply continue writing.

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><p>Outside the prophet's house that night, after Zachariah had departed, a certain man stood watching over Chuck as he sprawled over the sofa in a troubled slumber. The man was wearing a brown jacket, not dissimilar to that which belonged to the prophet himself, a checked shirt and some casual blue-ish jeans. His hair was fairly long, light brown and brushed back. Munching on an already half-eaten bar of chocolate, he smirked in a lopsided fashion.<p>

"So that's my guy…" He muttered rather ominously yet good-humouredly under his breath. Stealing one last glance at the prophet he was destined to protect, he vanished into the night.


	2. Chapter 2

Inevitably, Chuck Shurley did what he was sort of destined to do; he wrote. And he wrote some more. And he just kept on writing. He saw things in his visions that he truly detested putting down on paper – obviously he'd seen terrible things before (the brothers' dad dying, Sam getting stabbed, Dean getting torn apart by hellhounds, closely followed by the older Winchester going to Hell), but now he knew it was real, and that the things he was seeing were actually going to happen to Sam and Dean, and soon, and that it was unavoidable… Well, it just changed things for him. The most recent visions Chuck had suffered included Sam's demon blood habit getting way out of hand, a few rising problems for the angel Castiel, and the brothers continually lying to one another and being deceptive when they should have been focusing on working together to prevent the upcoming Apocalypse. The prophet desperately wished that he didn't have to keep writing, he often found himself practically praying for the angels to choose another person to be a prophet, anyone but him. But apparently, 'destiny', whatever the hell that meant (however it couldn't be denied, since the angels seemed to irrevocably believe in and stay faithful to it), simply wouldn't allow it. He'd considered trying to help the brothers, since he knew what was going to happen, but all the events that occurred in his visions couldn't be stopped. Besides, what could a measly, socially-awkward writer in his mid-to-late-30s do to help? Not much.

Chuck maintained his already out of control drinking habits in order to even slightly numb the pain and mental torture which he was barely enduring, but even the alcohol couldn't erase his duties as a prophet of the Lord. Then he turned to more, shall we say… intimate forms of forgetting. He ended up blowing all his limited cash on women, hoping to build his confidence at least a little, but just as he thought he might be getting somewhere, a phone call with a certain escort service was unexpectedly interrupted. Chuck had just recently been writing the dramatic final book (well it was unlikely to be the last one, if his prophecy continued) about all the sixty-six seals being broken and the Apocalypse inevitably spewing its unwanted consequences across the Earth, but he just wanted a break. However, his irritatingly rubbish life couldn't let that happen, could it?

Two characters that the prophet hadn't really held any desire to see again, like ever, appeared in his living room. It was the oldest Winchester brother and the seraph he shared a 'profound bond' with. In other words, Dean and Cas.

"Wait. T-t-this isn't supposed to happen." Was all Chuck managed to say. He gazed up at his (still extremely tangible, unfortunately for everyone) characters in utter shock. Very briefly, the thought that maybe he was no longer a prophet occurred to Chuck, but somehow, deep down, he knew he was only kidding himself and grasping at straws to think such things. Awkwardly hanging up the phone, promising the lady he would ring back, the prophet blinked and – yes, they were still there. Damnit, why did his life have to be so complicated?

"I…" Chuck trailed off, having no idea what to say next. He figured Dean and his angel would probably want something from him, or at least want to know what _was_ supposed to happen next. Sure enough, a few minutes later the prophet found himself showing the Winchester his first draft of the upcoming events.

"St. Mary's? What is that, a convent?" Dean inquired, glancing at Castiel and then back to Chuck.

"Yeah, but you guys aren't supposed to be there. You're not in this story." The prophet, despite hating his job with a passion, couldn't help feeling at least slightly concerned for his life. I mean, if a prophet had already written what is meant to happen, and that changes, does that mean he becomes obsolete? Or would he die? Oh dear, he might explode or something…

"Yeah, well… We're making it up as we go." Chuck's thought process was cut short by Cas explaining things. At his rather out of character words, the prophet knew some serious character development was going on with the angel. But Chuck hastily quit thinking about that – none of them were characters, they were real. And stuff was happening, right there and then. So the prophet knew that, despite not being in that section of his story, he had to do his best to help Dean and Cas, even if (for once) he doubted his knowledge of what was going on.

However, before any drastic decisions or dramatic motivational speeches could be instigated, a blinding white light erupted from outside Chuck's house, accompanied by the very foundations of the building rumbling and shaking as if it was terrified of being about to be demolished. Which it probably was, to be fair.

"Aw, man! Not again! No!" Yelling in despair, the prophet was actually more annoyed than in fear for his life. Likely, that was because he knew that whatever it was outside, it was definitely coming for someone else other than him in the room. Namely, whoever was the largest threat to him.

"It's the archangel!" Castiel shouted back, the gravelly tone to his voice cutting through any other insufferably loud noise like an axe and his words clarifying their situation. The angel turned to Dean, who looked more than vaguely terrified. "I'll hold him off! I'll hold them all off! Just stop Sam!" At that, Cas placed a hand on the older Winchester's forehead, and Dean was gone in the blink of an eye. Chuck instantly realised that the man had been transported to his brother using Castiel's angelic powers. Well, if he could save Sam, then maybe something good would come of their unanticipated visit after all.

With only the seraph and the prophet left alone to face whatever fate would rein down upon them, and the unbearable light now encompassing everything in sight, Chuck figured that a little comfort and reassurance wouldn't go amiss. Gently placing a hand on the angel's shoulder, the prophet glanced up at Castiel and gave him a small smile; in that one look, he conveyed all his feelings of appreciation for what he had done to help not just him, but Dean and Sam too, and also the underlying emotion of apology, saying sorry for the fact that it was his fault that the righteous celestial being would perish for simply being in his presence. However, since Cas was so blissfully nescient of human gestures, the angel turned his head and his gaze seemed to bore into the prophet's head, expressing the ultimate sense of confusion and maybe even discomfort. In reply, Chuck gauchely lowered his hand and the smile slipped from his face as they both turned to meet the concentrated burst of celestial intent. The only difference was that Castiel stood staring into the light as if it didn't affect him in the slightest, whereas Chuck squeezed his eyes tightly shut. However, a couple of seconds later the light receded, the high-pitched squeal quit busting their eardrums, and the building ceased its petrified reverberations. Hesitantly opening one eye a tiny crack, the prophet noticed that the angel was still stood beside him in one piece, and that his house was still in its ever-scruffy yet unharmed condition.

"Um… Castiel? What-what just happened? I though the archangel would-"

"Yes… It seems he has retreated and decided I wasn't a threat to your existence. I must check on Dean and Sam." A flutter of invisible wings sounded, and Cas was gone. Chuck was once again alone in his house after narrowly escaping being at the epicentre of an angelically-induced explosion. Not knowing how to respond, the prophet simply grappled for a chair and collapsed into it, closing his eyes and taking a swig of the bottle of alcohol that was closest to him – an almost-empty bottle of whiskey. It was the only way he knew of coping with the never-ending problems life seemed to persist in throwing at him.


	3. Chapter 3

A mere hour or so after the dramatic events of 'Lucifer Rising', as Chuck had titled the book, the prophet was still extremely on edge. Dean and Cas hadn't returned, there was no sign of Sam, and seeing as Chuck's last vision was intensely dark and had a strong sense of finality, the prophet worried that it was all over for his characters; he worried that Sam had met his match with Lilith and hadn't survived, he worried that Dean had been unable to prevent Lucifer from roaming free over the Earth, and he also worried a little for Cas, the angel that had given up almost everything for the Winchesters and was now utterly helpless against the literal end of the world. Chuck also found himself feeling a hint of curiosity about his archangelic protector – why had he appeared so hastily with full intent to obliterate Castiel, then changed his mind just as rapidly? What made him turn back? What kind of character was he? The prophet feared he would never know. But none of that mattered right now. The most fundamental thing at that moment in time was how the world was going to survive the Devil himself raining complete destruction and devastation on the planet when the Winchesters weren't there to stop it. Well, there was nothing he could do about it, so he might as well quit contemplating things he was unable to prevent or ever know.

Just when Chuck stood up to pour himself another tumbler of whiskey after getting a quick wash and change of clothes, he heard a quiet yet significantly audible and undeniably persistent clicking noise emanating from somewhere near his front door. The initial thought that came to mind was a reminder of how similar it was to when the Winchester brothers were investigating a case and they had to pick the lock on the door of the victim's house in order to further their understanding. The prophet quickly discarded such a speculation. After all, the brothers were likely dead – the youngest one, at least. Therefore there was no way it could be them. Or could it?

A second later, whoever was picking the lock succeeded in their mission and the front door creaked open slowly and deliberately; it was evident that the perpetrator was hesitant, and wanted to break and enter silently so the job could be done properly. Since Chuck had never been in such a situation previously in his sad life, it could be correctly inferred that he would naturally be terrible at dealing with it. So, his heart beating as fast as a demon could teleport and his breathing as shallow as Dean Winchester could sometimes be with women, the prophet tiptoed across his lounge and picked up the first item within his grasp – a toilet plunger. Don't ask why he had a toilet plunger in his living room, he didn't know either. But what mattered is that it was there, and that he picked it up as a defence. The similarly tentative footsteps of the culprit- hang on, Chuck was sure the footsteps had doubled… So, the tentative footsteps of the culprits, plural, drew ever closer, until they were just around the corner from where the prophet stood. _Well, it's now or never_, Chuck thought. Squeezing his eyes shut, he leapt around the corner and brought the toilet plunger down on the nearest person's head without thinking too much. A defined yelp emitted from the over-grown man as he stumbled backwards. Wait a second, over-grown? That sounded familiar… Chuck's eyes flew open instantaneously and he gasped slightly in surprise when he realised who it was.

"Sam."

"Yeah!" The younger Winchester exclaimed in an overtly exasperated tone as he raised a hand to his luscious locks of unusually long hair, just over the place where Chuck had clobbered him with the plunger. A moment later, the prophet noticed the older brother step out from behind Sam. Dean was staring at Chuck with an equally shocked expression to his brother.

"So… you're okay?" The prophet was itching to ask. He had to know how the brothers had survived that plot point, in particular, Sam. It seemed impossible that they would have made it. Then again, they'd got through so much already that it should no longer come as a surprise.

"Well, my head hurts." And somehow, Sam was still here, making humour out of their situation.

"No, I mean – I mean, my – my last vision… You went, like, full-on Vader. Your body temperature was one-fifty. Your heart rate was two hundred. Your eyes were black." Chuck inwardly winced at that last sentence – he wasn't sure whether he should have said it or not, since he was aware that it would greatly concern Dean, however it was the truth after all. Sure enough, Dean questioned his younger brother.

"Your eyes went black?" His gaze was frighteningly invasive, his usually bright green eyes steely with his demand for an answer and his natural instinct and almost scarily quick reaction of protecting his family.

"I didn't know." Sam replied, shrugging off Chuck's remark. Sam and Dean traded soulful looks, sharing a conversation exclusively between the two of them. It basically said: I-know-you-want-to-talk-about-this-right-now-and-we-will-at-some-point-in-the-future-but-right-now-we-should-be-celebrating-not-being-dead-and-we-clearly-have-more-pressing-matters-at-hand. It made sense. The older Winchester took the aversive action of changing the subject immediately to something that Chuck could answer more comfortably.

"Where's Cas?" Obviously, it was also something that was always on Dean's mind.

"Uh, I-I'm not sure-"

"What do you mean, you're not sure? You gotta know where he is, he was with you like thirty minutes ago." Dean snapped, also quick to jump to his angel's defence. It was sort of a character flaw of Dean's; he gets angry when he's confused.

"Pl-please don't get angry at me." Chuck stammered, his posture making him appear much smaller – though he did look small anyway, compared to the tall, tall men stood next to him. The prophet's soft and pitiful tone made Dean's expression soften slightly. He was about to speak again, but Sam held out a hand, gently cutting him off. Glancing back up at them, Chuck continued.

"Look, you left when the archangel came, right?" Dean nodded. "Soon after that, for whatever reason, I don't know, the archangel stopped trying to ki- hurt Castiel, and just disappeared. A bit later, Cas left too."

"Did he say where he was going?" The older brother asked before Sam could stop him that time.

"Well, he muttered something about checking on you guys, so I guess he went to the convent after you. But since you're here, he must have gone elsewhere…" The prophet trailed off, shrugging his shoulders slightly to show Dean he really didn't know anything. But the older Winchester persisted nonetheless.

"And you're sure you haven't seen anything else about him – or us – in a vision?"

"I'd know if I had."

"Fair enough." Sam stated. "Look, do you mind if my brother and I…" The younger brother gestured, silently explaining that they needed a semi-private chat. Chuck understood and nodded profusely straight away, taking a few awkward steps back into the hallway. Turning away from where Chuck stood a moment ago, Sam grabbed Dean's arm and pulled him a few steps away from the door.

"It's obvious Chuck doesn't know anything else. Maybe we should just leave and go back to Bobby's? Cas would know to find us there, and it's probably the best place for us right now."

"That's if Cas is even alive. Who's to say he didn't get to the convent just when Lucifer popped out of the box and got annihilated by that massive explosion? He wasn't on the plane with us. Maybe whoever – whatever – got us out of there could only take us and not him too?"

"Look, Dean, I'm sure Cas is fine. If he did get to the convent, he would have had the sense to get the hell out of there before getting blown to smithereens. He's not stupid, Dean. He's an angel."

"I know that, I'm not-"

"Um, Dean?" Chuck abruptly emerged from the doorway, interrupting the Winchesters' conversation. But he wasn't alone. Standing with the prophet, clad in his ever-present tan trench coat, was the very angel they'd just been arguing over. It was Castiel.

"Hello Dean, Sam." The slightly-more-dishevelled-than-usual angel greeted his friends in the only way he knew how. However, before any more heartfelt, or (more likely), angry words could be exchanged, another few celestial beings appeared. Only one of them was recognisable.

"Zachariah." Castiel clarified, in case anyone wasn't sure.

"Thought we'd find you here. Well, not you, Castiel. We thought you were dead, actually. But evidently not. Anyway, playtime's over, Dean. Time to come with us." The almost bald-headed angel lowered his tone a little in order to sound threatening, but he should have known it would never work in the face of the Winchesters. Unfortunately for the older brother, before Dean could make an amusing comeback or just a snarky comment, another creature appeared in the room.

"Aw, you guys. I was really hoping I wouldn't have to show my face, but since you mop-heads can't do anything yourself, I guess I have to." A man whose voice sounded extremely cheeky and sassy was the creature. It was fairly obvious that he was an angel, since he recognised Zachariah and Castiel, however he seemed rather uncomfortable, almost as if he was in a vessel that he wasn't accustomed to. The current vessel in which he resided appeared to be in his mid-40s, with carefully groomed straw-coloured hair, brown eyes and a neat blue suit. Due to his professional and tidily looked-after exterior, he was likely a lawyer or something of the sort. But that didn't matter, since angels can see past the meatsuit and determine which angel it is from their grace. And this angel made quite an impression.

"Hang on… Is that you, Ga-" Before the mysterious angel could be revealed, he slammed his hand over Zachariah's mouth and spoke over his muffled protestations.

"Yeah, I don't think you should finish that sentence, bro. But nice try." The other two angels that were accompanying Zach teleported away, clearly fearful of the new arrival and refusing to be involved in the mess he was making.

"Cas, get outta here!" Dean instructed his friend eagerly. When Castiel tilted his head back at him in confusion, Dean gestured towards the angel sigil painted in his blood on the back of Chuck's kitchen door. Instead of replying and letting Dean know he understood, Cas realised that time was of the essence, therefore departed immediately.

"Hey! Douchebags!" Dean yelled, and they two squabbling angels whipped their heads in his direction. A split second later, the older Winchester smashed his bloody hand on the sigil with unnecessary force, and Zachariah and the mystery angel disappeared in a flash of white light. Only Sam, Dean and Chuck remained, just like they had only a few minutes previous. The prophet was the first to speak.

"Do you- do you guys think that other angel was… _my_ angel? My archangel protector, I mean." Chuck seemed to be in utter awe and also bewilderment, which was generally a permanent state for him anyway.

"Could be. I guess it makes sense, you know, with Zach appearing and all." Sam replied, being the more logical of the two brothers. "But then why didn't he just appear in his white light form, like last time?"

"Well, because you and I were here as well as the threat, so we'd have been killed too. And Cas. If the archangel went to all that trouble not to kill Cas last time, he's not gonna just let him die easily this soon afterwards." Dean's argument made a lot of sense.

"I guess we're not going to know now, since you got rid of them, Dean. Although he will likely return soon enough." Castiel pointed out, sounding rather accusatory towards Dean.

"Wait a second – Cas, did you get a look at him? Did you know which angel, or archangel he was?" Sam inquired, asking the right questions.

"Unfortunately I did not, no. It all happened relatively fast, and I had to leave just before I got the chance to check who it was. Zachariah did begin by saying 'Ga', so that tells us a lot. If he was correct, and it was the prophet's archangel, then we could be facing Gabriel." Castiel's tone sounded vaguely sinister, and his expression was even more sincere than usual.

"Gabriel. The archangel…" Sam speculated aloud. The younger Winchester also seemed to be overcome with a sense of awe, which hadn't been present when angels were mentioned since before he'd met Cas. Though it was his first time meeting an _arch_angel. Other than his recent and short meeting with Lucifer, but that didn't count.

"So what do we do now?" Dean turned to Castiel for advice, as he often did in times of puzzlement.

"I suggest we continue as we were, then prepare ourselves for inevitable destruction." The angel's tone was entirely serious, with no hint of humour whatsoever. He evidently thought there was no way out of the Apocalypse. But despite the sense of impending doom, Chuck still found himself wondering about the archangel that may or may not be his protector; he might not even be an archangel. He had a possible name now, at least. Gabriel. That was enough to go on, surely.

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><p><strong>AN:**

**Thanks for the reviews I've got so far, and also the follows/favourites! As a side note, if you're struggling to imagine Gabriel's new vessel in this chapter, just google pics of Harvey Dent from The Dark Knight - that's who he's based off. Enjoy the rest of this fic!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:**

**Hello again (finally)! First of all, I have to apologise for not uploading in about two weeks. I did explain this in my Dark Knight fanfic, but since I don't think any of you are reading that (with the exception of blackrabbitkani, of course – sorry for making you read this twice btw), I'll explain again. Basically, I dropped my laptop around a week and a half ago, which meant it broke therefore had to be fixed. So, obviously I couldn't upload any fanfiction or do various other things (LIKE CATCH UP WITH THE DAMN SHOW), but I'm all caught up now and I've missed writing sooooo much you have no idea. To be fair, I did have mock exams too this week, so I've had to revise for those as well. Anyway, I should probably get on with actually writing this chapter now. Sorry again, but I'm back to normal with uploading now – it'll still be once a week for this fic. Thank you for bearing with me, and I hope you enjoy!**

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><p>A minute or so after the group of irritating rogue angels (not in Heaven's perspective, but in the humans' sense) had departed, Sam, Dean and Castiel said their goodbyes, wishing for the prophet to take care of himself and making sure he knew to call them if anything dramatic happened or if he saw anything particularly significant in his visions. It wasn't until shortly after they had left that Chuck realised that a) he didn't have their phone numbers and b) he was likely being tracked by Zachariah and co. so would be unable to personally contact the brothers if anything did happen. Okay, the phone numbers thing was flawed, since Chuck could just read his work and find out, but still, he was pretty sure the angels would find out if he did call the Winchesters.<p>

The only thing he could do for the time being was sit and write up what had just happened. Therefore, the prophet of the Lord slouched at his desk, hunched over his computer keyboard, and began to type. He'd just got to the part when Cas arrived at his home, when an overwhelming needle of almost tangible pain stabbed directly through the centre of his brain, stronger than ever before.

"Ah!" Chuck audibly gasped in agony as he automatically reached for his ever-present tub of aspirin and a bottle of half-empty whiskey, but before he could even think about taking them, he was consumed by another colossal tidal wave of excruciation. He barely heard the smash and tinkle of glass colliding with the floor and sliding across the room with momentum as he unintentionally dropped the bottle of alcohol, nor the dull _thunk _of the obsolete pain-killer container; the pain was simply too loud and smothered all other form of sound energy. However, it wasn't just the physical agony. Chuck's eyes, which had been squeezed tightly shut from the second his headache had begun, flew open abruptly, yet they saw nothing that was tangibly in the room with him. All they saw was one of the visions he was so used to by now, however this one was very much discernible from the rest he had previously experienced. Images flashed before his petrified and frozen eyes at a thousand miles per hour; of ancient paintings of a certain archangel – Michael was his name – followed by more recent photographs of Earth viewed from the perspective of someone in space, pursued by more rapid images of angels calling out to their brethren. Above all the aforementioned images was the echo of an overtly angelic voice, clear as a bell. It called out: "The Michael sword is on earth. The angels have lost it."

Although Chuck's vision seemed to have lasted for hours on end, it faded as quickly as it had appeared. Shaking like an angel's vessel which could no longer contain its celestial power therefore was about to explode, the prophet lay on the ground for a few minutes while he allowed himself to gain orientation once again. He hadn't noticed that, during his vision, his (also unnoticed) violent spasms had caused him to fall from his chair and onto the glass-carpeted floor, where he had lain for the duration of his terrifying ordeal, twitching and shivering. Due to the mass of smashed glass on the floor, and the fact that Chuck had been writhing in absolute torment, many small tears were scattered amongst his jacket and his hands were burdened with masses of tiny crimson cuts. Steadily getting to his feet, the prophet felt very much like Bambi, since his legs were unstable and he was trying to avoid standing in or placing his hands in more sinister slivers of glass.

"Right. Function like a normal human being, that's what I need to do right now. Come on, Chuck, pull yourself together, damnit! Oh great, now I'm freaking talking to myself, 'cause that doesn't look insane at all…" Muttering to himself, Chuck managed to cross the room to the kitchen and make his way over to the sink in good time. Then he stopped functioning again as he found himself staring down at his bleeding hands and was well aware of an increasing sense of light-headedness as the room gradually began to spin and the ground lurch under him. Taking a couple of deep breaths, the anxious man hastily turned on the tap and shoved his hands under it, without looking at them.

"Okay, okay, okay… Just calm down, take it one step at a time, man, it's fine." The prophet desperately attempted to reassure himself as swirls of red swam in a whirlpool of sorts around the sink before sliding down the plughole. Once he managed to regain his composure (or what was left of it) and keep down his non-existent breakfast, Chuck bandaged up his hands with a little bit of difficulty, seeing as he had no help, and swept up as much of the broken bottle off the floor as he possibly could. A few moments after that, the prophet soon realised that he should get the message of his last traumatic vision to Sam and Dean as soon as was realistic, however he couldn't call them, due to the aforementioned reasons, nor could he go to meet them personally, since it was fairly evident that an angel would get their hands on him before he even left town, let alone after he told them the message. He supposed he could pray to Castiel and explain the situation to him, but that could prove risky if another angel eavesdropped on them. Could that even happen? The prophet wasn't sure, but since he wasn't a person who tended to take many risks in life, he figured it would be best not to. After many minutes of intense logical and imaginative thinking, Chuck decided to do something that could have been either incredibly clever and necessary or incredibly stupid and reckless. He decided to contact a fan.

You can hardly blame him. He was desperate, after all.

Knowing it would be easy to find a fan on the internet, Chuck logged into his computer (it was generally always on standby). It didn't take long to hunt down a fan forum for the Supernatural book series by Carver Edlund, and it was evident, judging by the comments on the website, who was in charge – a user by the name of Becky Rosen. From that, he found the webmisstress' videophone address and, after a moment of 'why-the-hell-am-I-doing-this' hesitation while simultaneously taking the hundredth deep breath of the day, the prophet of the Lord clicked 'call'. Once Becky had established who was calling her – it took less than a second – and the two of them had finished their uncomfortable introductions, Chuck got down to business.

"…That's why I contacted you. You're the only one who will believe me." Chuck stated, then took a brief second to look up at the ceiling and compose himself. Becky was concerned at her idol's expression, therefore frowned and questioned him.

"Are you alright?"

"No. I'm being watched. Okay, not, not now – at least, I don't think so. But I don't have much time. I need your help." Chuck's abruptly sincere tone should have had the effect of making Becky become equally serious and listen all the more carefully, however it seemed to do quite the opposite.

"You need my help?" Since fangirling was in Becky's nature, she immediately became over-excited once again.

"That's right." Chuck ignored her enthusiastic mood, figuring it would only become a problem if she could no longer listen to him fully because of it. Instead, the prophet internally braced himself as he took the direct approach to revealing what he needed to reveal to her. "I need you to get a message to Sam and Dean. Okay?"

At first, Becky thought she was being taken for a fool, therefore refused to believe the truth, however when Chuck did in fact confirm he was telling the truth, she instantly grabbed on to that and completely agreed to come to his aid. After all, if your greatest idol who you had practically worshipped for years contacted you, told you the fictional world you had been obsessed with was real, then asked you to personally speak to the main characters, one of which you had a massive crush on, in order to help him, would you refuse? I doubt it.

When Chuck ended their video call, and Becky ran off, filled to bursting with pure, undiluted excitement and joy, on her way to meet her characters, he sat back in his chair for a few minutes. He finally had the chance to relax after the most stressful and probably the most eventful day in his life, so there was no way on Earth, in Hell or Heaven (since he knew they all existed for sure) that he was going to pass up on that opportunity. Then, just when the prophet let his eyes close and his mind drift a little, a cheeky voice came from across the room.

"A fan? Really?"


	5. Chapter 5

"You're a prophet of the Lord, man, I thought you'd have come up with something better!" The unadulteratedly snarky voice stated, meanwhile Chuck swivelled round in his desk chair as fast as Dean made his demon deal when Sam died, causing him to flail and almost end up sprawled all over the floor.

"Then again, you don't exactly strike me as the 'bold prophet' type… More like a kind of awkward guy who can barely string a sentence together when ordering food. No offense or anything." The strange (and more than a little rude) man continued, regardless of the fact that Chuck was just about holding onto consciousness and the stability of his knees as he gazed at the man with a mixture of awe, pure shock and also some undeniable taken offense. Despite all said emotions churning together like a giant poison ice-cream machine, the 'kind of awkward guy' managed to force out a couple of words.

"You… You're- you're my… My protector. A-aren't you?" Stuttering like crazy (which he thought he probably was at this point), Chuck advanced a few shaky steps towards the angel; although it didn't appear to be a part of his prophet powers, Chuck could somehow tell that the man stood before him was an angel – an extremely powerful angel, at that. An archangel. And if he was an archangel that was visiting him of all people, then the correct assumption was that he had to be his guardian. The prophet also knew that, although the angel was wearing a different meatsuit than the last time he appeared in his kitchen – when Zachariah was there – it was the same one that Sam, Dean and Cas had tried to figure out the identity of. Feeling an overwhelming urge to certify his theory, Chuck claimed who he thought his angel was. "You're… Gabriel."

"That's a pretty bold statement, kid, presuming to know my actual name and everything. Maybe I've misjudged you. We-e-ell, I doubt it." The prophet knew he was pushing his luck by thinking the discourteous archangel would pay him a nice compliment without taking it back, but it was good while it lasted. "Anywho, that's right, buddy. I'm your… protector, I guess. Yippee for me." The way Gabriel (for it was fairly obvious that was who he was, even if the aversive angel didn't confirm nor deny his name) said 'protector' was extremely sarcastic with a hint of imitation, making it seem as if he was reluctant to do his job, whether it was because he had a distaste for his prophet, or because he simply couldn't be bothered. However, when the angel saw Chuck's face fall slightly and gain a smudge of betrayal, he let his own expression soften a little, and allowed the corners of his mouth to turn up in a tiny yet comforting smile. When Chuck didn't return his grin, Gabriel realised he'd need a little more to reassure him.

"Come on, man, you seem a pretty cool dude, I suppose. I'm sure we'll get along." The angel claimed after rolling his eyes – he couldn't let himself go completely soft, now could he? Winking at the prophet, Gabriel swaggered across the room and plonked himself down on the prophet's sofa, making himself at home right away. Chuck had to admit, the archangel did fit in his house rather well, strangely. Then again, the prophet was so irrevocably involved with the supernatural by now that it made sense that yet another celestial being would feel at home residing with him. Plus, he figured it was a good idea that he was, since he'd be protected if anything came to murder or kidnap him. Thinking of such things posed a question in the prophet's mind.

"Wait a second… If you're here, does that mean something's after me? I mean, you're my protector, right? So… So if you're here to protect me, then there's gotta be something I need to be protected from… Oh man, I'm gonna die, aren't I? Or, or you are, and then I won't have a protector and Sam and Dean aren't here either, and if I'm gone, they'll die too and-"

"Whoa, whoa, calm yourself, bro!" Gabriel intervened, teleporting across the room to where Chuck was pacing up and down, showing clear signs of a full-blown panic attack. "Dude! Are all humans like this? I mean, I've spent a lot of my time around you guys – and by long time I mean a _long_ time – but I've never met anyone this unstable before. And I've met Will Graham!" Uncomprehending of the reference the angel just made, Chuck's breathing relaxed for a moment as he stared at Gabriel with puzzled blue-grey eyes. "Will Graham? The insane sort-of FBI agent who hallucinates stags? Not ringing any bells? Ah man, I give up. It's difficult enough hanging around with angels who don't understand a word I say, let alone humans!"

"Sorry, I-I have no idea what you're saying to me." Chuck managed to whisper as his erratic breathing slowed down and returned to normal. As the room ceased to spin and Gabriel's face came into focus right in front of him, the prophet found himself taking in all of the angel's features. His golden brown jaw-length hair that was neatly groomed; his literal gold irises surrounding a pool of pained black; his creased yet clean clothes including a red and black checked shirt embraced by a sandy brown jacket and navy-grey jeans perched on his hips. Shaking his head in order to snap out of his almost romanticised observations, Chuck stepped back from Gabriel's intense gaze and dragged his hands up his own face and through his ever-tousled hair. Since the prophet now had his back to the angel, he couldn't see Gabriel's concerned puppy face as he worried that, within ten minutes or so of meeting the guy he was supposed to protect, Chuck was potentially having a mental breakdown.

"Hey Chuck, you still with me, buddy?" The angel asked hesitantly, yet making his voice as strong as possible, knowing that failing in providing stability for the prophet at that moment could have been fatal for his state of mind. Refusing to turn around yet, Chuck replied nonetheless.

"Yeah man, I've just had a pretty crazy day. In fact, I've had a pretty crazy few weeks, you know, after the two main characters of my books arrived at my damn house! But it's fine, as long as I'm not hallucinating or anything, right? I'm not hallucinating, am I?"

"You're not going crazy, Chuck. I'm real, you're real – I'm not sure if this is a comfort or not, but the last few weeks have all been real too. Yup, you're Chuck Shurley, and this is your life." Gabriel claimed, raising his arms as if to emphasise his point.

"Alright. Well, it's good to know I'm not turning into this 'Will Graham' of yours, I guess." Chuck managed to squeeze out a small smile, which the angel returned. "This is what living alone does to you."

"Yeah, kiddo, I know the feeling." Gabriel's words, despite being in good humour, were tinged with a noticeable sadness, as if he was making a reference, not to a TV show or movie, but to his own backstory. However, since Chuck hadn't written anything or had any visions about the archangel as of yet, he had no clues as to his past. In the meantime, the prophet decided to ignore the melancholic vibe and carry on being inquisitive.

"So, um. What's the, er, plan now? I mean, what are you here for – why did you come here in the first place?" Chuck inquired.

"Not much, really. I figured it was high time to introduce myself, plus you seemed like you needed a buddy right now."

Chuck waited for a moment for Gabriel to take back what he had said and make another mild insult to turn his supportive words back on itself, however he was waiting for nothing; the angel didn't add another word. "Thanks. I… appreciate that." The prophet replied, still slightly wary. Gabriel, sensing Chuck's assumption that he was going to take back his compliment, rolled his eyes yet again.

"Aw come on! I'm not all tricks and insults. I do have a nice side too, however limited it may be." Winking, the archangel decided to get down to business. "So. I'm getting bored now and you, my friend, look like you need a change of scenery. How about we go on a little school trip? Pick a place, any place in the world. Far away from here, of course, but that goes without saying, really."

"But I can't, I might get another vision and then I'll have to write-" Chuck began to protest, but Gabriel cut him off.

"Ah tat tat tat… I won't allow you to even think about writing – you and I are going on a mini vacation. And don't worry about the visions, you won't get any, I promise. Now, have you picked somewhere?"

Chuck felt a little smaller next to Gabriel's penetrating stare, so he struggled to think of a place when put on the spot like that. But he came up with one eventually. "Um… I don't know, man… What about Perth, in Western Australia?"

"Australia? Really? Don't you want something a little more exciting? Let's try Vegas – it's real fun there, I should know. And that way, if you do get any visions, it's only gonna end in us winning the jackpot!"

"I don't know… It's a bit too chaotic there for me – can you really see me fitting in a place like that?" Chuck's social anxiety was showing again, but Gabriel refused to let that become an obstacle.

"Anyone can fit in Vegas! There, it doesn't matter who you are, or where you're from. I'm sure you'll enjoy it as soon as you get there. And it's not like you'll be on your own – you've got little old me. So, we're sorted then?"

"Er… I don't think-"

"Awesome! Off we go! Oh, I'll get you suited and booted on the way as well." At those final words, Gabriel placed two fingers on the prophet's forehead, and before he knew it, Chuck was zapped into the centre of a bustling casino. When he looked around, he could see posh waiters and waitresses grinning at him from every direction, or groups of excitable gamblers laughing with their mates. When he looked down, he could see his scruffy brown jacket and scuffed boots and jeans were no longer there; instead he was clad in a suave tuxedo and bow tie, his reflective shiny black shoes stood atop a lush red carpet. At his side was Gabriel, wearing equally posh clothing and also an unbelievable grin. His adventure had begun.

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><p><strong>AN:**

**Sorry I keep making Hannibal references everywhere, but after Chuck having a visions and a seizure last chapter, I felt it was relevant to relate him to Will Graham (my baby…). Anyway, don't forget that reviews are always appreciated – I love to read them, no matter what you write! I promise I'll reply too :) Thanks to everyone who's followed and favourited so far as well.**


	6. Chapter 6

_A couple of months later…_

"So then, an angel – the one who's totally gay for the other guy, by the way – this angel, he just- he just drops in, tells me he 'admires' my 'work', and that I'm a freaking prophet! I mean, I'm practically peeing myself at that point, dude, it was _insane._" Chuck Shurley was surrounded by a group of Vegas professionals profoundly engrossed in his words as he rambled on in a stream of inebriation. He was supposed to be in the middle of a game of poker, however things had kind of gone off track since the prophet had begun spouting his mouth off about literally the entire book series that he made sure they believed was real, and then the following events concerning his 'prophethood', as one might call it. Said men persisted to inquire about Chuck's life in a similarly intoxicated manner.

"Wait, so you mean you actually met an angel?" One of the more prominent fellows asked, his eyes betraying a hint of suspicion, as if he didn't entirely trust the so-called prophet's stories. Which was completely understandable, of course.

"Hell yeah I did! I've met a few others too, but a couple of them were kinda douchebags. Oh hold up a sec, guys, there is this other angel who's actually awesome – I only met him recently, but we've been hanging out. A real party animal, he is!" A raucous cacophony of laughter erupted from everyone slouched at the table following Chuck's phrase describing a celestial being. Due to the fact that he didn't intend to be amusing, the prophet was more than a little startled when everyone began to bellow and chuckle, yet he soon relaxed and joined them. A mere moment later, Chuck felt a tap on his shoulder immediately before an arm took him rather forcefully, but not too forcefully (sort of gently strong, like the way a friend would lift you up) by the elbow and began hoisting the prophet out of his seat.

"Okay, mate, that's enough." An unfamiliar voice with an undeniable cockney accent stated. When Chuck managed to swerve his head around, he saw it was a guy dressed in an official-looking uniform. It was evidently a security guard; however something was a bit off about him…

"Hey, man, it's okay. He's with me, I got it." An opposing familiar currently-sincere-yet-with-a-hint-of-underlying-cheeky voice chipped in. It was Gabriel. He seemed surprised at the sight of the 'security guard', so proceeded to question him. "Wait a minute – aren't you… Crowley? The crossroads demon?"

"King of the Crossroads, actually. Damn. I guess you'll be fighting me round about now then. Norse gods are generally unpredictable and… ruthless, I suppose." Crowley replied, not seeming to be all that bothered in the face of an omnipotent archangel. To be fair, the demon did think Gabriel was Loki, due to his 'witness protection'.

"Nah. It's fine. Just let my buddy go here and we're cool."

"Why of course." Crowley relaxed his grip on the (unbeknownst to him) prophet, before proceeding to lean in to the angel and lower his voice. "I'm undercover anyway, why don't we just say this never happened, alright?" Nodding his head and smirking slightly, Gabriel gestured for the demon to scarper, which Crowley did. Chuck, who was utterly oblivious to the whole conversation between the two inhuman creatures that just happened right under his nose, then piped up again.

"Gabriel! You're… here, I guess. HEY GUYS! THIS IS THE PARTY ANGEL-" Before Chuck could say anymore, Gabriel interrupted, addressing the guys at the table – the prophet's poker buddies. Actually, that would make rather a good band name.

"Haha, yeah, you got me. I'm totally an angel, right." The (definite) archangel spoke sarcastically while making a 'he's-totally-cuckoo' gesture towards the prophet, causing the poker guys to snicker yet also believe Chuck was just drunk and that what he said wasn't really true. It was terribly manipulative of Gabriel, however it was necessary if he wanted them to keep their identities secret. Gabe turned back to his friend, the guy he's supposed to protect, and decreased his volume to an almost-whisper.

"Dude! Quit doing that! Keep it low-key, yeah? I know they'll be too drunk to remember what you even told them by tomorrow morning, but you never know if any of them are demons or angels in disguise. Then they'd have enough info to blab back to the heavens or the underworld."

"But you can totally see if they are aemons or dangels… I mean, demels or angons- Wait a second… Whatever, man!" Chuck flapped his hands in an uncaring manner. "Whatever they are, you can see their true faces, right? So I'm cool."

"If I'm not there, I can't. Look, buddy, I can't trust you on your own right now, so we're leaving. This place is sorta lame anyhow. Let's go." Gabriel grabbed the prophet's arm and began marching him out the door; he would have teleported him, but they wouldn't exactly go unnoticed just 'poofing' away in the centre of a casino – the security guards (the real security guards, not just undercover demons) don't tend to get drunk, therefore the story of a disappearing duo would likely hit the tabloids in a couple of days. It was much less conspicuous outside in the dark where there are less people about. However, the two of them barely got out of the door without Chuck complaining and fighting back, no matter how weakly.

"Hey!" The prophet protested, sticking out his bottom lip in a vaguely amusing pout. "You know how the old saying goes: 'Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole.'… Okay, I'm now realising that doesn't really apply here, but you catch my drift!"

"Buddy, just shut up and come with, would ya? We need to get going, there could be angels on our tail right now-"

"Oh boo hoo! Would you listen to yourself? You're so… whiney. I thought you were fun. And I can quote Dean Winchester if I want – he's my character!"

"And here I was thinking you could handle your liquor." Just as they got out of the door, Gabriel's steely expression softened and he burst into giggles. As he stared at his guardian, Chuck went from annoyed, to concerned, to confused, to pure and simple apathy.

"Okay, I'm bored now, can we go? Man, you're such an a-" Gabriel looked up (he'd doubled over in his fit of laughter) at his companion, slightly worried that he'd stopped in the middle of a sentence – an insult, no less. It didn't seem like him, not when he was so drunk that his words were just relentlessly flowing. When the archangel studied the prophet's face a little more intensely, he noticed it had gone sort of a pale shade of green. At first he thought it just appeared so because of the Vegas lights, however it was, in fact, the colour of his actual skin for that moment. Gabriel then put two and two together and went into a slight panic.

"Bro. Bro, don't. You're not gonna-" But it was too late. Chuck then doubled over, certainly not as a symptom of humour. The sound of retching combined with the disgustingly wet sound of human waste hitting the pavement ensued as the prophet of the Lord threw up violently. When the angel looked down, desperately trying to ignore the smell (which was all the more intense due to his celestially acute senses), he saw a few tiny specks of vomit had patterned his shoes.

"Aw, man! Those were new as well… Right, we're definitely getting you home now." At that, Gabriel made sure Chuck had finished retching, then lightly tapped his forehead, transporting them into the prophet's living room. The archangel laid down his human pal on his dilapidated sofa, covering him in a blanket, since Chuck had already passed out.

"Don't worry, buddy. I'm sure you'll feel terrible in the morning." Gabe chuckled lightly to himself.

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><p><strong>AN:**

**I apologise for the late chapter again – I was ill last weekend but I should hopefully be back to weekly posting now. Also, happy new year! I hope everyone had a great Christmas and that this year is awesome for y'all. Thank you again to all those who have followed/favourited this fic so far, reviews are appreciated :)**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:**

**Thanks to those who are still following this fic! Just to mention, I altered the last chapter at the beginning so it says 'a couple of months later' instead of 'a few hours later', so Chuck and Gabe were in Vegas for a while bonding as friends, and also so it brings us up to the next canon episode with Gabe in it as well, rather than having a massive time gap where nothing happened. Hope that makes sense!**

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><p>"Uhhhh…" Groaning horrifically, Chuck began to drag himself off his sofa reluctantly, not even bothering to open his eyes. As he leaned over the side of the sofa, he noticed a bucket beside him, lined with kitchen roll. Initially he ignored it, however no longer than two seconds later, it suddenly seemed very important that he should need it; he rushed to grab it with both hands as he threw up yet again. Fortunately, the prophet had managed to align himself with the bucket in time, therefore his vomit had all landed neatly inside. Just as he forced himself to sit up straight, a certain angel with whom he had spent much time sauntered into the living room from the kitchen, a half-nibbled chocolate bar in one hand.<p>

"How you feeling today, buddy?" Gabriel inquired, louder than he could have, a facetious grin smeared across his face.

"Can you whisper?" Chuck asked quietly, rubbing his temples.

"Not really!" The archangel yelled obnoxiously, clearly revelling in the enjoyment of witnessing a friend's hangover-induced pain and discomfort. The prophet neglected to reply, instead simply grimacing and persisting to drag his hands over his face and already-tousled hair. Gabriel practically skipped over to his side, inclining his head towards the bucket.

"Phew. That stinks, dude. You gonna empty that ever? I sure as hell ain't." He commented, stepping away from it. Yet again, he was reminded that his angelically defined senses were sometimes a terrible disadvantage.

"I'll do it sometime. Aw, man, my head's killing me. Could you get me some water?" Chuck gazed up at his so-called 'friend', almost giving him the innocent puppy-dog eyed look. Although Gabe appeared as though he was going to refuse, he realised he couldn't dish out the 'it-ain't-my-fault-plus-you're-funny-to-watch-like-this' treatment forever.

"Ugh, fine." He whined, sighing as if it was an effort to conjure up a glass of water, which it obviously wasn't, him being an archangel. Once the hangover remedy had appeared in his hand, he passed it to the prophet, but not before he could resist one last dig at him.

"Fancy some chocolate first?" The angel grinned as Chuck's face went a couple of shades paler – the idea of food of any sort clearly repelled him.

"Just give me the damn water, Gabriel." The prophet proceeded to snatch the glass off him, rolling his eyes at the angel's antics.

Chuck figured he should be used to Gabe's ludicrously cheeky attitude by now, seeing as he'd spent a couple of months with him, on their slightly extended vacation to Vegas. It had taken the prophet at least two or three weeks to relax into the happy-go-lucky atmosphere over there; he wasn't generally a very adventurous guy, as he preferred to remain well inside his limited comfort zone. On top of that, he was scared. Scared that his visions would come back and he'd be taken into some sort of mental institute, or some angels, like Zachariah would come after him and arrest him in Heaven, or Gabriel would turn out to be a major jerk (okay, he sort of was sometimes, but deep down he's a good guy) and just leave him on his own in an unfamiliar place for him to get murdered or worse. Not that there was much that could be worse than getting murdered, but you get the point. Basically, Chuck was frightened out of his mind. But it turned out great in the end. When he did feel a vision coming on (which were getting less and less regular now), Gabe would teleport them back to his own house and wait until he'd written down anything he needed to add to his story before they returned. No angels came after them, not even one good one. And best of all, Chuck's protector never left his side, not unless he knew the prophet was completely comfortable with it. They'd had fun, once Chuck finally relaxed into the flow of Vegas and general vacation vibes. And the two men had definitely bonded, not just as prophet and guardian, but as genuine friends, to the point where they felt utterly at ease with one another, which didn't happen often with Chuck. Although he was still timid and nervous around people, Gabriel had really helped him come out of his shell and conquer a little social anxiety. The prophet adored him for that. Though he'd never admit that to his face.

"Chuck? Buddy? You with me, man? Helloooo, Earth to Chuck. Or, Heaven, I guess." The distinctive voice of the archangel broke through the prophet's thought process like Sam and Dean broke through that church window back in season 4 when Alastair was chasing them. Chuck immediately snapped back to reality.

"Oh, uh, sorry, man. I guess I'm still a little drowsy 'cause of my hangover. Sorry, what were you saying?"

"Nothing much. I was just wondering if you'll be alright on your own for a couple days, just while you're recovering. I was gonna head to Ohio for a bit. There's some business I need to take care of. Well, I don't _need_ to, I just want to. But you're cool with it, right?"

"Uh, sure, I guess. I'll probably get down to writing, I haven't-"

"Great! Here, take some aspirin for that headache." Gabriel interrupted, throwing a tub of pills at the prophet, who only just caught them. "Don't OD. I'll see ya soon, bro." At that, the archangel vanished, leaving Chuck alone.

"See you… then…" He trailed off awkwardly, realising Gabe wouldn't hear him. Once Chuck found himself alone again, he decided to take a couple of aspirin and try to go back to sleep. After all, he had nothing better to do, since his throbbing head pain and feeling of nausea kind of demotivated him, writing-wise. However, just as the prophet settled back into his sofa, pulling his blanket right over his head to block out the world, his headache escalated drastically.

"Oh no, not now!" Muttering to himself, Chuck winced as a select few vivid images repeatedly flashed before his eyes. He thrashed about, however throughout his ordeal he managed to squeeze in the vague observation that his current vision was not quite as intense as his Michael sword one around two months ago. On the other hand, the prophet was shocked to discover that one recurring image in his mind was of… Gabriel? Sam and Dean naturally appeared multiple times, yet they appeared to be conversing with the archangel. Was that where Gabe had disappeared off to? Had he arranged to meet Sam and Dean? If so, why? And why didn't he tell him? Chuck couldn't afford to divert his attention from his vision to ask such unanswerable questions. Though they turned out to be the images that made most sense to him. Next, he envisioned the Winchester brothers in doctors uniforms, rapidly followed by them dressed normally, but on some kind of Japanese game show? Soon after, the vision receded along with his headache (the prophet-y one, anyway), leaving Chuck utterly bewildered.

"What the hell?" The prophet spoke aloud to himself. How on earth was he supposed to make enough sense of that to write another section of the Winchester gospel?


	8. Chapter 8

Since he knew he was in no rush, Gabriel saw no reason to teleport straight to Ohio, therefore he decided to take the scenic route on a bus. Now, as humans, we wouldn't refer to a bus as being a particularly scenic or pleasant experience, however the archangel actually rather enjoyed observing human behaviour, plus public transport seemed to bring out the most amusing scenarios, especially when people started arguing. But then sometimes it got to a point where that would remind him of his brothers back in Heaven, so he'd leave when he'd had enough. However, this time, the bus journey was pretty tedious in terms of human interaction, which gave Gabriel time to admire the view from the condensation-covered windows.

Once the angel arrived at his destination (Wellington, Ohio), he simply stood in the middle of the town for a few minutes, silently yet sinisterly scrutinizing anyone and everyone who passed by, trying to determine which of them were unworthy douchebags. What, did you think he went there for some civilised conversations and peace, or something? No. Definitely not. The Trickster was back to his old tricks, if you'll pardon the pun. After being cooped up with his new buddy for months (which he had nothing to complain about, of course, just saying), he was itching to get back to raining his supreme power over some of the detritus of society. Though he did always like Ohio as well.

It wasn't too long before he picked his first victim; a man by the name of Bill Randolph, who, Gabe discovered after some research, had two counts of spousal battery, bar brawls, and court ordered anger management sessions. In other words, he was a douchebag. Since the guy seemed to have issues with keeping his cool, Gabriel thought for a second, then came up with the perfect idea of how to kill him – the Incredible Hulk.

When the deed had been committed, the archangel still hung around for a while, wondering if he could get away with selecting another person without the police investigating too deeply. Then, while he was spying on the cop station just to give himself an update, he noticed two familiar men walking out of the building in two obviously fake FBI suits and IDs. Two brothers, one tall and one even taller. The Winchesters.

Once Gabriel had set his sights on Sam and Dean, there was no going back. It had been approximately two years since he had screwed with them, and they were just so much fun to mess with, how could he resist? Especially the taller one, he looked hilarious when he was annoyed. So the archangel stole a police walkie-talkie and, knowing that the brothers had done the same, he manipulated the sound waves so that on the Winchesters' end it would appear that the cops were on their way to another strange crime scene. There was no doubt in his mind that they would want to follow. And this time, he had the most entertaining idea of a construction that he could drop them in…

* * *

><p>Back in Chuck's abode, the prophet was still attempting to wrap his head around what had happened in his visions when another one hit. It was a little less intense, but still trippy as hell. This time, there was Sam in an advert for treatment of genital herpes and both of the Winchesters in sunglasses and suits in some sort of procedural cop show on top of all the doctor and game show stuff. Seriously, what the hell was going on? Was it some sort of prank from the angels? Chuck doubted it – celestial beings weren't exactly the type for joking, they can't even understand it when others are having a laugh or being sarcastic, so he highly doubted they were capable of performing such pranks themselves. Maybe it was Gabriel? After all, the visions had only started after he left. But no, it couldn't be him. Gabe was his protector, and the visions were instigated by angels who currently resided in Heaven. So it wasn't possible. Or was it?<p>

The prophet shook his head violently. His job was to concentrate on what was in the visions and write it down, not start speculating on what (or who) caused them. Just as he stood up to go and sit at his computer to at least try and record the events, yet another vision struck. All the images flashing before him were the same as what were in the last two visions, however this time another scene materialised right at the end. It was Sam and Dean stood in an abandoned warehouse, with solemn faces. Then, a person was revealed to be stood before them, surrounded by a ring of holy fire. It was Gabriel.

All of a sudden, all the pieces of the perplexing jigsaw puzzle settled into place in Chuck's mind. He finally realised and understood what it all meant. It did make sense, and the angels weren't pranking him. Sam and Dean were the ones being pranked. That's what all the strange TV show stuff was. They had been put into them by a prankster. Or rather, a trickster. Gabriel. Gabriel was the Trickster.

Chuck's eyes widened as a result of his realisation and he scrambled to recall the past collisions of the Winchesters and the Trickster in his previous books. There was 'Tall Tales', an unpublished book that the prophet remembered well, where they'd first met and Dean thought they had killed him with the stake, but he was revealed to still be alive at the end. Then the next one was 'Mystery Spot', the infamous book wherein the Trickster had placed Sam in a time loop of endless Tuesdays to make the point that he wouldn't be able to save his brother when he died. After remembering these stories, Chuck became conscious of the fact that every time the brothers had met with the Trickster, they had tried to kill him. And it didn't seem like they were going to stop until they found a successful way of doing so. But Chuck couldn't let that happen; Gabriel was his protector. He needed him. He couldn't let him die.

The first idea the prophet had was that he could simply invent an ending where the Winchesters just let the Trickster off, or he escaped completely unharmed somehow. It seemed quite likely, as that was what tended to happen every time the men crossed paths. However, after seeing the scene with Gabe trapped in a ring of holy fire, Chuck doubted he would come out of this one unscathed. So it was simple; he had to write an alternate ending. But the prophet soon realised that it wouldn't work. The things he wrote only came true because they were stories from the angels. As Castiel had said, Chuck was merely a mouthpiece, therefore he wasn't determining the truth himself.

Onto plan B, then.

Plan B was kind of the only other option to exist, at least that Chuck could think of. He had to call the Winchesters and inform them about what was going to happen. He had to tell them that the Trickster was actually Gabriel, his protector, so they couldn't kill him. Yes, he knew he wasn't supposed to tell them what was going to happen to them, but he'd done it before, and things turned out better because of it. Sort of. All the prophet knew in that moment was that it was his only chance to get his best friend not-killed.


	9. Chapter 9

Encircled in a scorching ring of mesmerizing heavenly flame, Gabriel the youngest archangel stood as tall as he could. Placed equal distances away from him were the two Winchester brothers, who were currently focusing all their eternal will power through infuriated and wrathful glares. In the bigger picture, the trio were located in a dilapidated warehouse, the same one that Sam and Dean had wandered into hoping to find the Trickster but had been caught in the whole TV show land trap instead. Last time they entered the place, it was the angel that had gotten the jump on them; now, the tables had turned.

The conversation that the men were having was turning rather aggressive – argumentative, definitely – however the pivotal point of the intense dialogue was over, and things were appearing to calm down. Gabriel sighed during a lull in their speech flow, and, after making some rather spiteful and bitter points, decided to generalize his comments involving the Apocalypse so that it didn't appear to only be affecting the brothers. After all, he was at a disadvantage, and was the one who was potentially going to be killed in this situation, so he might as well try worm his way out.

"Guys." He began casually, turning his expression more solemn so the boys would take him seriously. "I wish this were a TV show. Easy answers, endings wrapped up in a bow… but this is real, and it's gonna end bloody for all of us. That's just how it's gotta be."

Dean was on the verge of disagreeing with the Trickster, however he bit his tongue. He figured they'd argued enough, and now was the time to take action instead of carry on going round and round in circles in a pointless conversation that was clearly going nowhere. Although, before the older brother could do anything, Gabriel interrupted his thought process.

"So. Boys. Now what? We stare at each other for the rest of eternity?" The archangel's impatience forced itself to become overtly prominent in his tone of voice.

"Well, first of all, you're gonna bring Cas back from where you stashed him." It was a statement, not a request.

"Oh am I." Gabriel challenged it all the same. Dean was aware that the angel would try and fight back, so he'd already prepared a bargaining chip. Or rather, blackmailing chip.

"Yeah. Or we're going to dunk you in some holy oil and deep-fry ourselves an archangel." It was evident that the older Winchester wasn't joking – his threats were as true as his words of 'I'm fine' to Sam never were. However, just as Gabriel raised his arm and positioned his fingers in such a way it was obvious he was about to click them and bring Cas back, a familiar combination of 'Smoke On The Water' and 'Rock You Like A Hurricane' began to play. The archangel raised his eyebrows, half in a 'what-someone's-calling-you-at-a-time-like-this-really' expression, the other half in a 'wow-that-ringtone-seriously' way. Both were saturated with sarcasm, as I'm sure you can imagine. Meanwhile, Sam simply stared at his brother in a questioning fashion, to which said brother replied by shrugging. The source of the sound was quite clearly Dean's jeans pocket, so after glaring at their hostage for a few seconds, the older Winchester delved into his pocket to retrieve his phone and flipped it open, immediately answering under one of his FBI aliases.

"Hello, Agent-"

"Dean, it's me." An overtly anxious voice interrupted.

"…Chuck? Is that you?" The hunter took a moment to realise who was speaking. As soon as the name was mentioned, Gabriel's face changed from mocking to concerned and perplexed. Sam noticed this change instantly, but didn't comment on it yet.

"Look, I don't know how much time I have, but-"

"Whoa, whoa, hold up, man. Kind of busy here. One second." Holding up his hand to his brother to show he was moving away from them for a moment and that Sam should stay to mind the Trickster, Dean strolled across the warehouse and settled just outside the door, so his conversation wouldn't be heard. Once he had left, Gabe began to protest.

"Hey, what's going on? Was that- Who was that?" He figured he couldn't let slip that he knew Chuck yet, so made a pantomime of acting dumb.

"What do you care, Gabriel? Butt out."

"No, I think that was for me." This threw Sam.

"What the- Why would you say that?"

"Because… Never mind. If you guys are gonna be all secretive and all, then whatever. Like I care." The Trickster folded his arms and avoided eye contact with the younger Winchester in an evasive manner. The archangel's actions and words utterly bewildered Sam, therefore he chose to ignore them and change the subject.

"Just… keep it down, would you?" Sam was going to say 'shut up', but he figured that was a mistake. Unlike his older brother, Sam was reluctant to be massively insulting to archangels, since he sort of minded getting on their bad side. Though he supposed it didn't really make a difference if the angels all wanted Lucifer to be free and the Apocalypse to happen – since he'd already made it clear he disagreed with that, he was probably already in Heaven's bad books. And Dean was Heaven's favourite anyway. But despite all this, there was still a part of Sam, no matter how tiny, that admired and believed in the righteousness of angels. And Gabriel was still their best bet.

Meanwhile, outside the warehouse, Dean was still chatting to the prophet of the Lord.

"Chuck, dude, what the hell's going on?" The Winchester whisper-yelled into the receiver of his cell.

"What are- what are you doing right now?"

"I don't understand."

"Just… It's important, I need to know, then I'll explain, I swear."

"You really need to tone down on the commas, man."

"What? Dean…"

"I know, I know. Sorry, man." Dean got to the point (finally). "We, er- We're in a warehouse right now, me and Sam. We're just hunting, that's all."

"Dean, tell me the truth."

"You should know though, right? I mean, you always know exactly what's happening."

"No, Dean, I don't. My visions, they only give me snapshots of your lives. I have to use artistic license to fill in the gaps, though it's accurate anyway. Please, Dean, I need to know."

Dean sighed. "Alright. Sam and I were hunting down the Trickster. You remember him, right?"

"Sure I do. Go on."

"So, we thought we got near him, but he was one step ahead, like he usually is. Basically, he trapped us in this crazy TV land sort of thing, where we had to learn to 'play our roles' to escape. Then, we thought we killed him-"

"Oh my God."

"Thought. I said we _thought_ we killed him. Chuck, what-"

"Sorry. Just carry on."

"But we hadn't. He made us think we'd escaped, but we were still stuck. After some more tricks, we finally cornered him and he's currently trapped in a ring of holy fire. Sam's watching him."

"Okay. Okay, I can work with that…" After a moment of silence, Chuck continued. "Look, Dean: the Trickster, he's not a demi-god, or whatever you think he is. He's actually-"

"An archangel. Gabriel. Yeah, we got that. Ring of holy fire, remember?"

"Oh. Okay, sorry. Is that all you know?"

"Yeah, why? Is there more?"

"Sort of. You know when Zachariah came and that angel appeared and we got rid of them a couple of months ago?"

"Uh-huh?"

"Well, you know how Cas thought he might have been my guardian archangel?"

"Enough with the not-so-rhetorical questions, Chuck. Just get to the point already." Dean's frustration with the prophet was becoming evident, though he immediately felt bad about snapping at Chuck.

"Right. Well, that was my archangel. And it was Gabriel. The Trickster is Gabriel, and Gabriel is my archangelic protector. So you can't kill him. Please?"

"Wow. A guardian trickster, huh? Pretty ironic." Then sudden realisation dawned on Dean. "Wait a second, kill him? You thought we were gonna _kill_ him?"

"No! Not really…" Chuck's uncomfortable squirming could practically be heard on the other end of the line. "It's just… Well, you guys are hunters, and you kill the bad stuff, and he's been kind of bad to you, and then I had visions of you guys, and I thought…"

"Hey, it's okay, man. I'd have probably thought the same."

"Really?"

"No. But don't worry, your archangel's safe with us. Give me a minute, I'll tell Sam." Chuck could hear the warehouse door swing open closely followed by the clomping booted footsteps of Dean Winchester. The muffled voice of Sam was detectable as him and Dean discussed Chuck's revelation. Not long after, the phone switched hands to the younger brother.

"Hey, Chuck."

"Hi Sam. So Dean told you?"

"Yeah… It's pretty weird. Though I have to ask, how did you know it was Gabriel and that he was your guardian? Did you get a vision or something?"

"Or something. He sort of visited me shortly after I sent Becky to you. We've been, er… hanging out, I guess."

"You've been-" Dean must have heard Chuck's latest confession as he snatched the phone off his brother and almost shouted into it. "You've been getting pally with the Trickster and somehow neglected to tell us?!"

"I'm sorry, okay! It didn't really cross my mind. Plus I didn't think it was that important, not until I got my vision of you. I'm sorry I ever doubted you and thought you would hurt him." After this, Sam managed to grab the phone back off his brother, glaring at him as he spoke back to the prophet.

"No, not at all. I can understand that, it's just… Never mind. At least we know now. Hold up a sec, I might as well put you on speaker." Before Chuck could protest, Sam pressed a button so everyone in the room, even Gabriel, could hear him.

"Um… Hi?"

"Hey, Chuck. You okay, buddy?" The archangel didn't even bother hiding his friendship with the prophet, instead he met the Winchesters glares with an air of challenging petulance.

"I'm… good, thanks. So, er, what now?"

"Your good friend here still hasn't brought Cas back, and we ain't letting him go until he has." Dean piped up forcefully, challenging Gabriel's glare with equal obstinance.

"I was just about to do that when your phone rang, you know." The Trickster made clear as he performed his signature click of the fingers. A dishevelled and bloodied Castiel instantly materialised behind the Winchesters.

"I'm guessing that's my cue to go. Please remember not to kill each other." Before anyone could reply, the prophet hung up.

Back in his home, Chuck exhaustedly sighed and dragged a weary hand through his hair. His job was way more trouble than it was worth. For a moment, he debated whether he should write 'Changing Channels' as it was before he intervened, however he figured the angels would only give him visions until he wrote it as it happened. Plus, even if they didn't, it would likely still mess up time or something if he didn't write the truth. After all, his word was supposed to be gospel.


End file.
